


Sunset Soon Forgotten

by ricekrispyjoints



Series: The Light of Day [2]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Drinking, F/F, Fluff and Angst, Frat Parties, M/M, Sequel, Sloppy Makeouts, Sorry Not Sorry, Underage Drinking, excessive drinking of mountain dew, francophone!jean, fuckboy culture, i have big plans for these kids, puns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-10
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-06-01 11:36:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6516964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricekrispyjoints/pseuds/ricekrispyjoints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an amazing summer at Camp Sina, Marco Bodt heads off to Trost State University. As he settles into new classes, new friends, and new experiences, Marco finds his life from the past sinking away from him like the setting sun. Moving forward has never felt so good, but it may be at the cost of the people and things that he cares about the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's a new dawn, it's a new day

**Author's Note:**

> At long last, the wait is over (was anyone even waiting I don't know). But here's the sequel to my 152k summer camp au. This will probably be hard to follow if you haven't read that...
> 
> Title from Iron & Wine's song of the same name. 
> 
>  
> 
> Many thanks to cloudmonstachopper for again agreeing to beta this!

  
The first two weeks of college were like a beautiful, blissful dream.  
  
I was away from home, living with a fairly good friend, and I was taking some really cool classes.  Plus, I got to see my boyfriend at least 4 days a week.   
  
Organic chemistry, affectionately abbreviated "o-chem," was insane. The homework took _hours_ , and I felt like all I did was study for our weekly quizzes. (My high school teachers lied to me, I'm telling you.)   
  
I tested into French 205, which felt like a good level for me. My vocabulary was more pitiful than I thought, though, and I spent at least an hour every week making Jean quiz me.  
  
My English Composition 1 class was super easy, and sort of boring, for which I was honestly thankful. I needed a class that didn't drain my soul.  
  
Calculus 1 was fun, and I probably should have taken the placement exam, because so far, I had already learned most of it.   
  
Add in an art appreciation class, and my schedule was complete. It was fewer classes than I had taken in high school, but it was more than enough work.   
  
Eren and I were getting along pretty well as roommates, too. We had set up some rules to keep the peace, since we were pretty different in our living habits. The rules were:

  1. If you’ll be up past 11, you go to the lounge.
  2. One day’s head’s up is required for requesting “alone time” in the room.
  3. Don’t gape, don’t tell. (Nudity policy)
  4. If you have nasty gym clothes, Febreeze the room.
  5. Only wake your roommate on school days if you know he’s missing class. Weekends: DO NOT ENGAGE.
  6. Blasting music must be mainstream – rock, pop only.
  7. When blasting any genre, headphones may be requested.
  8. The Xbox is for public use, but Marco gets first dibs.
  9. Mini-fridge items must be labeled. Eren gets space rights.
  10. No parties.



I honestly couldn't imagine either one of us breaking any of the rules, except maybe the laundry one. (Neither of us had ever lived alone before, but I was fairly confident that we'd figure it out.)  
  
Things with Jean were... perfect. We figured out a routine, a rhythm that kept us together and happy and helping each other in turns. I called him in the mornings to make sure he got out of bed on time for work, and cooked dinner for us on the weekends. In turn, he helped me with my French homework, and showed me around the city so I was nearly as much of an expert as he was.

  
When I lived at home back in Jinae, I always had to be the responsible one: I looked after Julia, I cooked on days my parents worked late, I did all my homework, and helped Bert study. But in college, I was so much freer. I had Eren and Jean to balance the responsibilities out, and it was so freeing. The only other time I could remember feeling this clear and content was on our hikes out to Yarckel Point at summer camp.   
  
I made friends with some of my classmates, particularly a guy named Thomas Wagner from my French class.   
  
Thomas, a sophomore from the suburbs of Trost, was probably the bro-iest person I’ve ever met. Somehow, we still had a lot in common: a love of the outdoors, little siblings (Thomas had three little brothers, 5, 11, and 12. Yikes), and an interest in “squishy” things, as Jean would say.

He had pledged to a fraternity, something with a delta in it, and was perhaps too intense about intramural sports tournaments, but he was hilarious, energetic, and brave. He would try anything once, as he demonstrated by shaving his legs only two days after our first meeting.

(“They feel so soft when girls shave,” he had said. “Why wouldn’t I want to try it?”)   
  
We had really hit it off, so the first time I introduced Thomas to Jean I had been pretty excited. I really thought they'd get along just like I did.   
  
"He's in my French class, and he's really cool," I told Jean one day while we were hanging at his apartment. "Anyway, he's organizing a movie night and I asked if I could bring a plus one. Wanna come with?"  
  
"Why can't you and me have a movie night here?" Jean groused.   
  
"Aww, come on, _mon coeur_ ," I schmoozed. "I want my friends to meet you so I can make them jealous of my hot boyfriend."  
  
Jean groaned. (French pet names were his weakness, and Jean had developed a bit of a possessive streak in the three months we had been dating. I played him like a fiddle.)   
  
"...When is it," he asked gruffly.   
  
I clapped my hands, excited like a little kid. "Yay! Thank you, _chéri_. It's tomorrow at 7:30."  
  
"You're lucky you're cute," Jean grumbled, but he pulled me in for a kiss.   
  
"I'm lucky you looove me," I teased, smiling into the kiss.

  
Jean deepened the kiss for a moment before pulling away with a wet smack.   
  
I giggled. "Remember when you made that mouth fart at camp?" I asked.  
  
"Um, excuse me? That was _you_ , babe," Jean said. "I laughed; you were mortified."  
  
"Was it? I thought it was you!"  
  
"Must have repressed the memory or something," Jean said. He leaned in to kiss me again, sweetly this time.   
  
Then he pulled back with his lips slack, creating a loud, sticky noise.

  
"Now _that_ mouth fart was me," he laughed.  
  
I spun away from him, hiding the blush that crept up my neck. Tu l'as fait exprès!" I accused. _You did that on purpose._  
  
"Absolutely I did," he laughed, slipping his arms around my waist from behind. "You're so cute when you're embarrassed," he added quietly in my ear.   
  
"You know what else gets you embarrassed?" he asked, mischief creeping into his voice.   
  
_Oh no_ , I thought, bracing myself.  
  
There were two things that got me stupidly, irrefutably embarrassed: Being sung to, and blow jobs.   
  
"What are you about to do, you menace," I hissed through clenched teeth.   
  
"Wouldn't you like to know," he said. His voice is low and smoky, and I still didn't know which one he was going to do.   
  
When his hands reached for my belt buckle, I shivered.   
  
"Shh," Jean soothed. "Détends-toi. Oui, comme ça, doucement." _Relax._ _Yeah, like that, nice and gentle._  
  
I melted backwards into his touch, and he walked us over to his bed.

Jean and I were still a bit new to all of the things we could get up to when not confined to a tent where small children might be just around the corner (or worse, our fellow camp counselors).

This, however, was one skill that I was particularly interested in improving. He called it oral fixation, I called it the most awkward orgasms of my life.

Jean liked to tease first, with just a feather-light touch of his fingers to my sides, my hip bones, and then he would slide over to my erection like we had all the time in the world.

I was fighting shivers or giggles most of the time, but that only seemed to encourage him.

Today was no exception.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered to me in French as I squirmed under his touch. “You’re alright. It’ll feel good, I promise. It always does.”

He put his hands on my zipper but didn’t make a move yet, looking up at me intently.

I took a deep breath, trying to steel my nerves, and nodded for him to continue.

That was another thing: Jean was very _chatty_ during sex. I didn’t mind, because his frequent talking covered up a lot of the more embarrassing sounds. That is, until he started sucking me off. Then it was like he was making all those lewd noises _on purpose_.

“Jean,” I scolded as he slurped his saliva back into his mouth.

He smirked at me and licked at me, running his hands up and down my hips and thighs.

I risked a glance down at him, and immediately flopped back down on the bed. He looked like _sin_ and it was too much.

“Are you trying to kill me?” I hissed at him. I was really glad I was taking that French class this semester, because Jean speaks approximately _zero_ English during sex, and I was expected to follow suit.

“Only _la petite mort_ ,” he teased. Apparently the French call an orgasm “little death.” Jean thought it was very clever; I just wished he would stop talking about death with my dick in his mouth.

To make my point, I guided his head back down, my hand gripping his hair and scratching his scalp gently.

He hummed around me, and I groaned at the vibrations. Naturally, he did it again, this time pitching his voice even lower and taking me as deep as he could.

And I, Marco Bodt, am ashamed to say, that I did not last.

Jean pulled off of me, sputtering and coughing. As if blowjobs weren’t embarrassing enough for me, now I had this to add to the pile of mortifying memories.

As I hid my face in abject horror, Jean scrambled across the room for a Kleenex, still coughing slightly, but now it seemed like he was mostly laughing.

He wiped his mouth and spat a couple of times. “Why are you hiding?” he asked me.

“Go away,” I said, my reply muffled by my arms over my face.

“Marco,” he whined.

“No,” I said, but I could feel the corners of my mouth turning up. _Stay strong, Bodt!_

“Marcooo,” he said again, more playfully this time.

“What.”

“I liked when you had your hand in my hair,” he said.

“Guahhh!” I wailed. It’s a wonder I had a boner not sixty seconds ago, because now all of the blood in my body is pulsing through my face and neck.

“Will you stop hiding from me?” Jean asked.

I spread my fingers apart to peak at him. “Are you just going to make fun of me again?”

“What? No!” he yelped indignantly. “I’m not making fun of you at all.”

 “You know what you are doing?” I said, arching an eyebrow. “Going to Thomas’ movie night tomorrow.”

“I already said I would, Marco.”

“Well, now you definitely are,” I said in a tone of voice that sounded more like my seven year old sister than me. I may as well have stuck my tongue out at him for good measure.

Jean kissed me on the mouth, and I was about to lean into it until I remembered that his mouth had very recently been full of semen.

“Gross, Jean!” I squealed, scrambling backwards.

“What?” he scoffed. “It’s just cum! And besides, it’s _yours_!”

“That doesn’t make it any better!” I reached behind my head to grab a pillow to smack him lightly with.

He took it from me, and whacked me in the face with it.

“Hey!” I complained.

“All’s fair in love and war!” he yelled, smacking me with the pillow again.

We wrestled on the bed, fighting for control of the pillow or the others’ wrists. Jean may have started with the advantage, but my more muscular frame won out before too long. I rolled over onto of him and enjoyed my precarious victory for about three seconds with a triumphant “HA!” before we both toppled over the edge of the bed, landing on the floor with a _thud_.

 

X

 

At seven forty the next day, we arrived at Thomas’ frat house for the movie night.

“You could’ve fucking warned me it was a frat party,” Jean complained.

“It’s not a frat party, it’s a movie night,” I corrected diplomatically.

“Semantics,” Jean scoffed as the door opened.

“Marco!” Thomas boomed, throwing his arm out wide for a bro-hug. “And you must be the boyfriend!”

“Jean Kirstein,” Jean said, and though he looked irritated, he extended a hand to shake.

Instead of taking his hand, though, Thomas wrapped him up in a quick bro-hug too. Jean visibly bristled like a cat in the bath.

I stepped in to save Jean, but fortunately Thomas was already stepping back, opening the door wider for us to come in.

“We just got snacks set up, and we’re waiting for like, one or two more people, so come on in and get comfy. We got drinks in the kitchen, food in the movie room, bathrooms down that hall,” he said, gesturing vaguely at each thing he mentioned.

“What movie are we even watching?” Jean asked me quietly.

“We were gonna vote when everyone got here. Thomas mentioned Space Jam and Labyrinth.”

“Sweet Jesus save me,” Jean groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “I do not need to see David Bowie’s crotch bulge tonight.”

When we gathered around the coffee table with our sodas, I introduced Jean to Ricky from my o-chem class, and Luz from my orientation week group. I didn’t really know the other three people, but Thomas said they were his frat bros, and he couldn’t really tell them not to come.

“Dearly bro-loved, we are gathered here tonight to watch some fuckin’ movies!” a voice boomed from the front door.

“Marlowe!” Thomas cried back.

Jean’s eyes bulged out of his face and he looked at me with the most horrified grimace. “Ils sont pas sérieux?” he asked quietly. _Are they serious?_

I laughed awkwardly. “That’s Marlowe, I guess.”

“Il est con,” Jean scoffed. _He’s an asshole._

“Shut up, Thomas speaks French too,” I reminded him.

Jean responds by opening his soda can and chugging it. I grimaced, knowing what was coming next.

_Wait for it… wait for it…_

_BELCH._

_Yup. There it is._

“La classe,” I told him.

“Bro!” Thomas yelled. “That was epic, Jean. You’re welcome here anytime, el oh el.”

“Did you just _say_ LOL out loud?” Jean asked. 

“Hah, yeah, I do that sometimes. It’s kinda fun.”

“Marco, j’y arrive pas.” _I can’t do this._

“Once the movie gets started, it’ll be better,” I told him. I hoped Thomas was far enough away or distracted enough that he wouldn’t hear.

 

The last two people showed up, two girls who introduced themselves as Fledge and Merit (reeking of pot), and we set up the DVD player.

“Alright, we have three choices tonight, ladies, gents, and bros,” Marlowe said, holding the cases out like a hand of cards. “They are:Labyrinth, Space Jam, and, yeah I know it looks like the Notebook but the disc is actually Pacific Rim. My little sister likes to steal my shit.”

Thomas pulled out a dry erase board and wrote the three films across the top: Bowie Bulge, Ball is Life, and Mechapocalypse.

To Jean’s very obvious relief, Pacific Rim won handily, and the disc was popped in. Jean draped an arm around my shoulders lazily, but I could feel how tense he was.

I put my hand on his leg, trying to soothe whatever was bothering him. He sighed heavily, but reached out to hold my hand. We could at least make it through this movie, and then if Jean still really wasn’t comfortable, we could leave early. Jean did have to work tomorrow, so it wouldn’t even be a terrible excuse.

 

Two hours later, as soon as the credits were rolling, Jean jumped up off the floor and held his hands out to me. I took them and pulled myself up, though with significantly less gusto than Jean had.

“Well, this was fun, but I’ve got to work tomorrow morning, so we should get going,” Jean said. He squeezed my hand in a silent plea to go along with him.

I didn’t want him to be uncomfortable, so of course I agreed, though I was a bit upset that he disliked my friends so much.

“See you around, Thomas,” I said as cheerfully as I could. “Text me if you need help with the French essay this weekend! And thanks again for the invite tonight.”

“Any time, Marco. And I will almost definitely text you, because I can barely keep up in class discussions, man.”

“Maybe we can peer edit, then,” I suggested.

“Seems like he won’t be much help to you,” Jean muttered in French into my shoulder.

“Cool, well, I’ll let you know!” Thomas said. “Get home safe. Nice to meet you, Jean.”

“Yeah,” Jean said.

Once we had our shoes on and the door was closed behind us, Jean took a few brisk steps to the sidewalk and then stooped over, hands on his knees.

“You okay?” I asked. “Too many people?”

“Quality over quantity, Marco.”

“They weren’t that bad. They’re a little bro-y maybe, but Thomas is a good guy.”

“He’s a fucking idiot. Not nearly so insufferable as Marlowe, though, who seems to be the _pinnacle_ of jackassery. Where in the fuck are these people from? I mean, they said internet abbreviations _as words_ , Marco. He said ‘oh em gee’ at least ten times during the movie. I thought I was going to die.”

“Stop being such a drama queen,” I scolded.

“Please don’t ever invite me to hang out with them again,” Jean said wearily. “I met them, didn’t like them, you kids have fun and leave me out of it.”

We walked back to Jean’s apartment in silence, broken only by Jean’s occasional humming of the Pacific Rim soundtrack.

He unlocked the door, dropped his keys in the bowl, and walked straight for the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. I heard the shower turn on, and figured he just needed some space.

I busied myself washing a couple of dishes, and then flipped through a hiking magazine Jean had on his nightstand.

After half an hour, I was starting to get worried. Was this still alone time, or should I go ask if he’s alright?

I decided to give him five more minutes.

Just as I resolved to go check on him, the water turned off, and I heard the rustling of clothes.

A couple of minutes later, Jean came out of the bathroom looking exhausted. I turned down the blankets on his bed, and he climbed in without a word. I wriggled out of my jeans and turned off the light, snuggling up behind him.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked.

Jean was quiet for a moment. “Did you really think I would get along with those people?” he whispered.

“I hoped you would,” I admitted quietly. “I wasn’t expecting you to be best friends with them or anything.”

“Bert and Reiner were fine, hell, even Jaeger wasn’t bad,” Jean said, rolling over to face me. “But Thomas and Marlowe, plus those stoner girls and the other frat guys, and just. All of it together? It was too much, man. I couldn’t take any of them seriously. I’m actually pretty shocked you’re friends with any of them.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, keeping my voice level.

“They just seem kind of… wild, for you. You’re not a frat guy. You told me that you like the smell of sunrise and I’ve seen you fly your baby sister around like an airplane. It just seems kind of incongruous is all, that you’d hang out with Thomas.”

“I can still like the smell of sunrise and play with Julia even if I’m friends with Thomas.”

“Yeah, it just… wasn’t what I was expecting I guess.”

“You really didn’t like them, did you,” I said. It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t answer.

“Sorry,” he said after a minute. He pulled me into chest, dropping his chin on top of my head.

“It’s alright,” I said, but it didn’t feel quite sincere even to my own ears.

We held each other quietly for a long time. Eventually, I realized Jean had fallen asleep, and finally, I drifted off as well.

 

X

 

I woke up at six, since we had gone to bed so early the night before. It was Saturday morning, and I had a five to seven page French essay due about immigration policy on Monday.

I spread out my books across the kitchen table, making some tea and getting started quietly, letting Jean sleep. His shift at the lab started at ten, so there was no need to wake him for another hour or two.

There were some pigeons outside and the sounds of traffic, but otherwise I didn’t hear anything but the whirr of my laptop and the clicking of the keys as I typed.

By seven thirty, I had four pages, though I wasn’t convinced they were any good, and Jean had begun to stir.

“B’jour,” he said sleepily, when he saw me already up.

“Good morning, chéri,” I replied with a happy smile.

“Come back to bed?” he asked.

“I’m writing my French essay,” I said, though I stood up and walked over to the bed.

Sitting on the side, Jean reached his hand out to mine, stroking my knuckles with his thumb.

“Sorry if I was an asshole last night,” he said with a slight chuckle. “I was pretty socially overwhelmed and I felt kind of unprepared, I guess.”

“I figured,” I said. “You can just tell me when you’re not feeling it, though. You don’t have to call them names.”

“I didn’t—“

“And I quote, ‘the pinnacle of jackassery,’” I said sternly.

“Yeah, okay. I’m sorry. Forgive me?” he said, offering his best puppy dog eyes.

“Of course I forgive you,” I said. “Just… talk to me next time, okay? Just like at camp. I can’t always guess your feelings correctly. You have to tell me sometimes.”

 

X

 

I went back to my dorm on Sunday morning to find Eren sprawled across the floor, clutching his pillow, sound asleep.

I looked around the room to see if anything seemed amiss—a bed covered in laundry, a guest, anything—but couldn’t see anything.

I concluded that Eren had probably fallen out of bed during the night. He had a tendency to be a bit of a wild sleeper. Heaven knows how he lived in a tent for nearly two months every summer.

I briefly considered waking him just so he could get back in bed, but in deference to rule five, I let him be.

Instead I gathered up my laundry and dragged it down to the basement before everyone else had the same idea.

I brought my calculus homework down with me to kill time in between loads, and by the time I had folded everything and hauled it back to our room, Eren was finally awake.

“Sup,” he slurred with sleepiness.

“Morning, Sunshine,” I teased. “Sleep alright?”

“I fell out of bed.”

“I saw. You alright?”

“How did I not wake up? That was like a two and half foot drop,” he commented. He didn’t seem angry, just surprised.

“I dunno, man. Must be a deep sleeper?”

“That’s a new level of deep sleep, though. You know this carpet isn’t plush.”

“Don’t know what to tell you,” I chuckled.

 

I headed out to get some brunch at the dining hall—it didn’t open until 10:30 on Sundays, to give the staff a break I suppose, but it was awful for my early starts.

I saw Ricky and Percy from o-chem eating at one of the tables near the windows, and brought my tray over to join them.

“Hey,” I said.

Ricky grunted in response.

“Marco, right?” Percy asked.

“Yeah.”

“You’re one of the seven crazy freshmen taking o-chem, huh,” he said.

“I guess. There’s only seven of us?”

“I remember being a freshman in o-chem, thinking I could do anything. Thinking I was so smart for testing into it. What a fool I was, so long ago.”

“Percy, you’re only a sophomore.”

“Don’t mock my pain.”

I considered asking about the homework, but figured that wouldn’t win me any favors this early on a Sunday. Our o-chem section met on Tuesday/Thursday, so chances were they hadn’t started the assignment yet anyway.

Instead, I asked about their weekends.

“Trina made this really sweet little picnic date for our one year anniversary,” Percy said. “She packed a basket and a blanket, the whole bit.”

“She sounds like a great girlfriend,” I smiled.

“Oh, here we go,” Ricky said, rolling his eyes.

“Trina is literally the best girlfriend I could have ever asked for,” Percy began.

And then he talked about her for the next fifteen minutes with barely a breath in between stories. 

Ricky looked resigned to chasing around his scrambled eggs in maple syrup, and when Percy got too schmoopy, he mimed stabbing himself in the face with his fork.

“Are you fucking done yet?” Ricky sighed as one of Percy’s stories wrapped up. “Some of us are desperately single.”

I ducked my head, looking out the window.

“Ah, fuck, you too?” Ricky asked me.

“Tell us about her!” Percy urged.

“Ah, well,” I cleared my throat gently, “ _he_ is pretty great. His name is Jean. He used to go here, actually. Works for a geology lab here in Trost now.”

I waited for a second to see if they’re going to be weird about me being gay. Percy looked starry-eyed, chin in his hands, and Ricky looked the same as before.

“Well, tell us how you met!” Percy prompted.

“We uh, we worked at summer camp together. I liked him from the start, he took some warming up, but eventually we figured it out,” I summarized.

“Cute,” Ricky deadpanned. “You literally fell in love amongst the birds and the bees.”

Percy practically guffawed. “That’s perfect! You have to use that when you tell other people how you met.”

“I’ll think about it,” I laughed. “Jean would probably be really embarrassed by it.”

We chatted a few more minutes before Ricky announced he was going to die if he didn’t get started on his history paper, and Percy and I had our own work to do. I had arranged to meet Thomas at the library at four, so I had time to get started on my o-chem back at the dorm.

 

Even before I came out of the stairwell, I could hear incredibly loud music thumping down the hall. Some instinct in me told me, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, that the music was coming from my own room.

I opened the door to see Eren eating a bagel, flipping through what looked like an art history textbook. The music was so loud that he didn’t even hear me come in.

“Dude, what are you listening to?” I yelled.

Eren yelped and nearly dropped his bagel. He _did_ drop his textbook as he scrambled for the volume.

“Geez, you scared the shit outta me,” he said, clutching his chest.

“I asked what you were listening to.”

“Oh, it’s the new track by Titanfall,” Eren said as though that explained everything. I guess it sort of did.

“I see…” I said, pursing my lips. “I noticed you didn’t call it a song. At least we can agree on that.”

“Hey, now, I never said it wasn’t a song,” Eren said, sitting up straighter in his chair. 

“I’m invoking Roommate Rule #7,” I sighed.

“Fine, fine,” Eren grumbled. “I’ll put headphones in.”

“Thanks!”

 

X

 

By one, I had finished all but two problems from my o-chem set, so I decided lunch and a break were in order. I texted Bert to see where he was with his homework, and he texted back almost immediately.

From: **Bert  
omg save me from this trig hw yes let’s get lunch**

With a laugh, I tucked my phone away and told him to meet me at the dining hall in ten.

Bert and I seemed to have opposite class schedules, so seeing each other during the week was nearly impossible. Whenever I was in class, he was out, and when I was out, he was in. Add homework on top of that, and we didn’t have a ton of time to hang out.

We texted most days, but neither of us were big talkers, so we usually tried to have lunch on Sundays.

When I got to the dining hall, Bert was already waiting outside.*

“Hey, Marco,” he said with a gentle smile.

“Hey Bert! How’ve you been?”

“Math is a horrible, horrible evil thing,” he groaned.

“Spoken like a true Literature major.”

We swiped in and grabbed trays, loading up on mashed potatoes and chicken nuggets. I drowned mine in ketchup, and Bert went for hot sauce.

“How’s Reiner?” I asked as we found an open table.

“He’s great,” Bert said. “He’s working on this big project for his junior capstone seminar, and it’s really taking up a lot of his time. But he really likes it, so I can’t really complain.”

“That’s good, then,” I agreed.

I liked that the friendship that Bert and I had established when we were younger had grown with us. It was a nice, easy friendship: nothing really needed to change, even as we did.

 

X

By the end of week three, I had really found a balance with all of these assignments, hanging out with Thomas and his friends, and of course, spending as much time as I could with Jean.

I was away from my dorm about three nights out of seven, but Eren didn’t really seem to mind. He seemed happy to see me when I was home, but never gave me crap about being gone so much, either. I think he could understand. He and Armin were a bit farther apart than Jean and I, but still close enough that they would see each other once or twice a week. The problem was mostly that Armin’s courses were a lot more demanding than Eren’s, and a lot of their time together was spent on study dates.  

One afternoon, I came back from my Freshman Comp class to find Eren standing in the middle of our room, doing some kind of stretching, completely naked.  

I also noticed that he was a _lot_ more muscular than I remembered him being.

“Bro, do you lift?” I asked spontaneously.

“Who are you and what did you do with Marco,” Eren deadpanned.

“Your abs look amazing. Have you been working out more than usual? Like, that is some intense definition. Do you have a six pack for real?”

“Marco. I am _naked_.”

“I know, but I’m just looking at your abs…”

“RULE NUMBER FOUR, MARCO.”

“Sorry, sorry!” I called, turning away.

He grumbled as he got dressed, but didn’t actually seem that mad.

“So… what do you do at the gym?” I asked after a moment.

“Aww,  are you feeling insecure, Marco? You look fine. You’re all golden and rippling, any man would be jealous. Especially that twig you call a boyfriend.”

“Hey now,” I admonished.

“Speaking of your boyfriend, Armin wants to have a game night with the Camp Sina crew that’s in Trost. You down for that?”

“I definitely am,” I said. “It’d be fun to see Ymir and Sasha and everybody.”

“Awesome. Ymir said she’d host, since she’s got her own apartment, and we were looking at either this weekend or next. Let me or Ymir know as soon as you can?”

“Sure thing. Have you invited Bert and Reiner yet? If not, I can text Bert.”

“Ymir told me she already texted them.”

“Why wouldn’t she just text me too, then?” I wondered.

I sent a quick text off to Jean with the invite.

“Ah, you must have missed the Great Phone Debacle, then,” Eren said. “She lost everything. Photos, contacts, the whole bit. Phone totally wigged out. Just text her something about freckles and she’ll add you right back in.”

“What was the Great Phone Debacle?” I asked hesitantly.

“Ask Ymir. My retelling wouldn’t do it the justice it deserves.”

“Right,” I smirked. My phone buzzed in my hand with a reply from Jean. “Jean says he has to work next weekend, so this weekend is better.”

“Great,” Eren said. “Don’t forget to text Ymir! I gotta go prepare for this debate tomorrow. My teammates are… not good public speakers. I think the prof did this to me on purpose.”

“Good luck!” I told him.

“Thanks, I’m gonna need it.”

 

X

Jean and I showed up to Ymir’s apartment—a spacious one bedroom on the other side of town from Jean—with a box of microwaveable popcorn and a two-liter of ginger ale.

“Baby Boy!” Ymir screeched as soon as the door opened, dragging me into a soul-crushing hug. “And my Favorite Boy,” she added, turning to Jean. He winced in anticipation of the hug, but I saw the little half-smile that he fought to keep off his face.

“We come bearing gifts,” Jean said when Ymir finally released him.

“Ginger ale? Are you an old man?” Ymir teased.

“Oi, ginger ale is delicious _and_ helps nausea,” he pouted.

“Yes dear, we know,” I teased, putting a hand on his arm gently.

“Casse-toi, Bodt,” he joked back. _Fuck you._

“Peut-être plus tard, chéri.” _Maybe later, hon._

“Right, well let’s all pretend we know what _that_ was about, come the fuck inside!” Ymir said enthusiastically.

We took our shoes off and handed the food and drinks over to Ymir.

Eren and Armin had already claimed a beanbag chair for themselves, and waved hello to us when we entered the main room. Mikasa was lounging on the floor in front of them, head propped on Eren’s feet and reading a magazine. She offered us a quick smile before returning to whatever article had snagged her interest.

“Quick tour,” Ymir said. “This the front room, that’s the kitchen, bathroom’s that door, bedroom’s that other door,” she said, pointing at each place. “Don’t fuck in my bedroom _or_ my bathroom. This is a lesbian sex only zone.” She waggled her finger at us to impress the severity of the warning.

“Duly noted,” Jean said, and I nodded in agreement. Then, he turned to me. “She’s got a _door_ ,” he gushed. “To her bedroom! A real fuckin’ door!”

“Yes, she does,” I said placating him. Jean was tired of the limited space of his studio, but he wasn’t sure if he could afford a one bedroom just yet. Briefly, I had wondered about the possibility of us moving in together next year; it would probably cost less than the dorms, and with my parents helping on my end, we could definitely get a nicer place.

It was a little early to be thinking of that, I guess, so I tried to push the idea to the back of my mind for a couple months down the road.

Sasha and Annie arrived a few minutes later, followed by Bert and Reiner.

“Who else are we waiting for?” Eren asked as Ymir dumped a bag of chips into a large plastic bowl on the table.

“The love of my life,” Ymir said dreamily. “No, but really. Christa gets off work at six, so she’ll be here soon. Then we’ll start games, order pizza, all that fun shit.”

“I forgot how much you swear when there aren’t small children around,” Sasha laughed. “It’s fuckin’ hilarious!”

We continued to make small talk and catch up with each other until Christa came home about ten minutes later.

“Sorry I’m late!” she said. “You know how it goes with public transit,” she adds, reaching up to kiss Ymir on the cheek.

The rest of us pretended to be completely grossed out by this, making retching noises and sticking our tongues out.

“Oh shut up, or I’ll _really_ give you something to be grossed out by!” Ymir cried, before grabbing Christa’s face between both of her hands and kissing her deeply.

Christa pulled herself away after a few seconds with a quiet “that’s enough,” and the two separated.

After ordering enough pizza to feed an army barrack, and deciding what game to play first – Cards Against Humanity—we played a few rounds until the food arrived.

We took a break from the game to avoid getting the cards greasy, and then the true purpose of the evening was revealed.

“So, Ymir wasn’t entirely honest with you why she agreed to host this party,” Christa said.

“Oh?” we asked, curious.

“See, she thought that buying _eight, two-liter bottles_ of Mountain Dew was a good idea. And to—“

“THEY WERE ON SALE!” Ymir interrupted.

Christa put her hand up in Ymir’s face to shush her. “And to prevent her from drinking all of them and making my life hell, I told her she needed to find someone else to help her drink all of them.”

“Cheers, everyone,” Ymir said dejectedly. “Please enjoy the Dew on my behalf, since I won’t be allowed to drink it myself.” She fake sniffled and acted like she was actually really upset about it.

Once the caffeine and sugar highs started rolling out, the game got completely out of control. We laughed at things that had no reason to be funny other than we were so hyped up on sugar and the late hour that literally anything would have been funny.

By four am, we were all sick to our stomachs with the soda, crashing hard from the sugar and caffeine at once, and Ymir and Christa managed to drag out a half-dozen blankets and throw them around us.

We slept on the floor, curled up like a bunch of puppies.

When we woke up the next morning, Armin groaned that his “caffeine hangover” was too strong, and Eren threatened to carry him back to his dorm.

“Yay!” Armin said, before falling directly back to sleep.

Jean and I dragged ourselves out of Ymir’s around nine, we stopped at Burger King for those French toast sticks, and then slept for four more hours at Jean’s place.

 

College, I decided, was pretty damn incredible.

 

 


	2. Mid-morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The flu, midterms, and a party.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rolls up a month and a half later with no excuses* i said this would be slow, didn't i?
> 
> thanks as always to my wonderful beta, cloudmonstachopper who does great things like catch incredibly vague sentences that make no sense!
> 
> marco is a naïve nudnik ok

Only two things in life are definite: death, and flu outbreaks in dorms.

I started stock-piling anything that contained vitamin C when I heard the first sniffle down the hall. Not even a full week later, it seemed like _everyone_ had gotten sick. I disinfected every surface of our room, desperate to avoid the virus.

I was taking way too many tough classes to risk it. O-chem with the flu? You can kiss your passing grade goodbye, and I was clinging to my B minus with everything I had in week four of the term. Midterms were just three weeks away, and I couldn’t risk it.

Eren on the other hand, was less cautious, and soon enough:

“Wuaaahhh-CHOO!” he yelled.

“Was that a sneeze?!” I exclaimed, jumping backwards.

“Sorry, man. I think they got me. Save me Obi-wan Kenobi! You’re my only hope!”

Great. Now I had to contain the virus within my own room.

“Put this on and don’t touch any of my things until you’re better,” I said as nicely as I could, handing Eren a mask.

“What, you’re not going to nurse me back to health? Make me soup? Steal food from the dining hall for me at least?” Eren whined.

“Can’t risk it. Midterms are too close. I won’t recover in enough time to study until I die,” I told him, trying to hide my smirk.

“You suck. I’m calling Armin,” Eren announced.

I turned back to my studying. I was making a study guide for the unit we had just covered, as I had for the previous unit. That way, when midterms and finals rolled around, I’d have way less work to do.

It was Thursday morning, and I didn’t have class until the afternoon, but no way was I going to do homework over the _weekend_.

If you keep your nose to the grindstone all week, then weekends can be relaxation and hanging out with friends.

You could always hear the bass-thumping parties held “secretly” on campus. Technically, we weren’t supposed to have parties in the dorms, but they weren’t against the rules if you called them “progressives” and went from one room to another so no one could track you down.

At least, that’s what they said. Off campus, the frat houses of course had big keggers, of course, but that wasn’t my scene.

My weekends were pretty tame, but I liked them.

Jean and I had our weekend routine down after three weeks, so it was comfortable and nice. Go shopping together, cook, watch a movie, make out and maybe have sex, go to sleep. In the morning I’d drop by my apartment to shower and get fresh clothes, and then we’d do it all again. I couldn’t wake up as horribly early as I did at summer camp, when the sun wasn’t even up yet, but mid-morning was nice sometimes, too.

If you can’t sleep in on the weekends, when _can_ you?

This weekend, with Eren out of commission with the flu, Armin was staying over. I offered him my bed, and arranged to spend the entire weekend at Jean’s, instead of going back and forth like usual. The back and forth was mutually beneficial: I had a chance to drop off my school stuff, get fresh clothes, and Jean could recharge his social batteries a little.

Today though, I had to adjust a little bit. I just needed to give Jean a little more space during the time I would normally be at the dorm.

Jean was blowing on a cup of coffee while I caught up on social media on my phone I had busted my ass to not have any homework this weekend, but now I didn’t know what to do with all my free time.

“Do you want to practice your French?” Jean asked.

I looked at him, a bit puzzled. “I was going to give you some time to yourself, I thought.”

“Nah, I’ll be fine. Might not want you around on Monday, but that’s a Monday thing more than a you-thing. Come on, parle avec moi un peu, chéri.” _Speak with me a little, love._

“Si tu insistes,” I replied in French. _If you insist._

Practicing with Jean had made me a more competent speaker, but I still felt embarrassed at my grammar.

Jean had two favorite things to correct me on: verb tenses, and prepositions.

Fucking prepositions.

“No, _commencer_ uses _à,_ not _de!”_ Jean groaned. “I just corrected you on this.”

“Sorry,” I grumbled. “Je commence à comprendre.” _I’m beginning to understand_.

“You know what would be fun?” Jean asked, eyebrows raised and a smirk on his lips. “We should do some preposition review. Like, what each preposition means.”

“I know what they mean,” I protested, “I just mix up when to use them.”

“Let me show you what I mean.”

Jean led me from the kitchen table over to the bed, and sat down next to me.

“À côté,” he said. _Next to._

Then, he put his hand on my shoulder, indicating that I should stay put, and he crawled around the bed behind me.

“Derrière.” _Behind._

Jean reached around me to tug at my leg, and I guessed that he wanted me to lie down on the bed. He maneuvered me into a suitable position, and then laid down on top of me.

“Sur,” he smirked, kissing me briefly. _On_.

Then he tugged at my legs, spreading them out a bit so he could fit himself between them.

“Entre.” _Between._

It wasn’t hard to figure out where Jean was going with this, but I still wanted to have my fun, too.

I pushed up from the bed and knelt in front of Jean.

“Devant,” I said, smiling. _In front of._

Jean sat up a bit and pulled at my sweatpants, and I encouraged him to keep going by wiggling my hips a bit. I had to lie back to get them off all the way, and I pulled Jean back toward me.

He was on all fours, my legs between his, and I told him as simply as I could, “Dans.” _In._

Jean took me in his mouth happily, and after some awkward resituating, I ended up on my back with my heels hooked around Jean’s shoulders as he sucked me off.

When I came (not like it took that long), we switched positions. I wasn’t as good at blowjobs as Jean was, mostly because I panicked about breathing with a dick in my throat, so I didn’t last very long, usually finishing him with my hands.

And one thing Jean liked about my hands? My fingers. Specifically, in his ass.

Granted, we had only done it once before, but he told me he really liked it and wanted to do it more. He had even said that when we got there, he “maybe kind of wanted to try bottoming.” Considering he hadn’t even considered being with a guy before summer camp together, I was pretty surprised to hear that.

Anyway, when we switched, I made sure to grab the lube he now kept in his bedside table and dropped it on the bed next to me.

I built up a slow rhythm with my hands, adding my mouth occasionally to tease. When he seemed to be getting close, I pulled back, letting him pant and calm down while I opened the lube and spread some on my index finger.

Jean spread his legs to give me more space to work in, and I carefully resumed my previous rhythm with one hand, while moving my other hand towards… his asshole.

Getting started was the worst part about it. My brain wouldn’t shut off and ignore the fact that yes, I was sticking a finger up my boyfriend’s ass. Once we got into it, seeing the pleasure on his face and watching him wriggle and writhe was enough to put it out of mind. But getting started was an awkward and uncomfortable experience for us both.

I hoped it would get better with more practice.

Taking a deep breath, I asked Jean if he was ready.

“Mais _allez_ ,” he whined. _Come on already!_

“Take that as a yes,” I laughed breathily.

Just like the first time, when we got into it, it was fun. Jean made all sorts of noises that he wouldn’t if I was just sucking him off, and I felt kind of powerful knowing that he did all of that because of one little finger.

After he came, I laid down next to him and ran my fingertips along his skin as he breathed heavily.

“Next time, I want more,” he told me.

“More..?” I asked.

“Two fingers. Maybe even your dick. I just want _more_ next time. Is that okay?” He asked, turning self-conscious. He’s blushing harder than I may have ever seen, and he won’t look at me at all, picking at a fingernail.

“Y-yeah,” I stammered. That was more than okay.

 

X

 

Figuring I needed to give Jean a break at some point, I decided to go to the gym Saturday afternoon. I hadn’t really made going to the gym a habit yet, because I usually just went running at home, and my body seemed to naturally put on muscle. I never really had to work at it.

But I had heard the stories of the “freshman 15” and knew that I needed to stay fit and healthy. I didn’t particularly like the idea of going for a run around the city; having to stop at traffic lights and watching for cars seemed like a hassle that never existed in the forest preserves back home.

 I wasn’t too keen on the disruption to my running rhythm, so to the gym I went.

I started on the treadmill, figuring I could just do my run, but after fifteen minutes I was already bored. I looked around and saw people watching the TVs, listening to music, and even studying while they ran.

Clearly, my runs at the gym would have to be different from my runs through the forest preserves back home.

I settled on watching the closed captioning cooking show that was playing nearby, but made a mental note to bring headphones with me next time.

The show only lasted another ten minutes, and that’s all I lasted, too. Guess I was only going to run three miles today.

Instead of leaving after just half an hour, I looked around the room at all the machines and weights. I had done a little bit of weight training in high school, or at least enough to know how the machines worked, so I headed over to the triceps extension machine and gave it a try.

I had no idea how much weight I could do, so it took a lot of finagling and adjusting the pin as I tested out the different weights.

After I did a couple of sets on the triceps machine, I decided to try out a couple of other machines, too, telling myself it was mostly to get a ballpark for how much weight I could handle. As I went, though, I found the lifting to actually be kind of fun.

It was nice to feel the bunch and stretch of my muscles, and yeah, a narcissistic part of me thought it was really cool to watch my muscles work. What could I say? Teenage boys like their muscles, okay?

By the time I made a circuit around to all the machines that I wanted to, nearly an hour had passed. By the time I showered, I knew I would be a lot later than I had told Jean I would be getting back, so I wiped off the last machine I was on, grabbed a fresh towel for my shower, and headed to the locker room.

I sent Jean a quick text telling him my gym trip took longer than expected, but that I was going to shower and head back soon, and I headed off to do just that.

 

X

 

Eren was finally recovered from the flu just in time for the horrifying crunch of the week before midterms.

I barely saw any of my friends or even Jean that week, because I was worried if I didn’t study my brains out, I would somehow explode, or more likely, fail out of college and have to become a stripper to earn my living.

(At least I had built up enough muscle for that to be somewhat lucrative, even if I didn’t particularly want to go down that path.)

 

Our room was silent except for the scratch of pens and the turning of pages. Occasionally, I could hear loud music blaring out of Eren’s headphones, but usually he listened to classical music for concentration, which was low enough that I couldn’t hear it.

I wasn’t really worried about French or English Comp; the midterms were both essays and I had started both of them a couple of weeks back. French really just needed another quick edit, and Comp was missing two sources of the required eight. They were both due on Wednesday, French at noon and Comp at five, so I figured I could work on those later.

Art appreciation’s midterm was scheduled for Tuesday afternoon, and was going to be a test of different eras with example artwork, but I had been making flashcards since about the second week, so I planned to just kind of cram right before the exam. I had a solid A so far and I was at least familiar with all the different movements anyway.

Calculus was a little more involved: I had taken to doing extra practice problems from the textbook and looking up the responses on Yahoo! Answers, since most of them were already there. Jean thought I was crazy for trusting Yahoo, but I argued that I was really just using it as a check against my own work. It was a nice little confirmation that I was probably doing everything right.

But what really had me studying until the wee hours of the morning was o-chem. No matter how many problem sets I practiced, no matter how many times I reviewed my lab notes, no matter how many times I re-read and re-organized my class notes… It always felt like whatever I had learned was slipping away, and the harder I grasped for it, the faster it slid.

Molecules of complex organic compounds haunted my sleep. What was the difference between catalytic cracking and catalytic reforming? I knew there was one, but when I tried to articulate it, I couldn’t do much beyond stutter.

“Fuck,” I muttered, leaning back in my desk chair for the hundredth time that night.

“Dude, tell me about it,” Eren groaned from his desk across the room. “It’s almost 1am though. We should probably give up for tonight.”

“Oh, you’re going to bed?”

“Yeah, I’m wiped, man. I just got over the flu and now I’m cramming two hundred years of American foreign policy into my brain,” Eren said.

“I think I’m gonna head to the lounge, then,” I said, gathering my notes, textbook, and the disgustingly large (and still growing) pile of post-it note questions I had. “I haven’t quite gotten to the point I want to on this chem stuff.”

“Don’t push too hard, or it’ll just get worse. There’s such a thing as over-studying, you know,” Eren warned.

“It’s like they say about drinking, though, right? You have to test your limits.”

“Yeah, but I thought calculus was going okay for you?” Eren grinned.

I groaned.

“Limits? Get it?” he teased.

“Yes, Eren, I got your joke. Sleep well, I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, and hauled my ass down the hall to the lounge.

My chem midterm was at the end of the week: Thursday morning, nine am.

“Shit, it’s already Tuesday,” I groaned. That meant art appreciation was tomorrow. Well, it wasn’t until two, so I figured I could cram in the morning. Finish with chem tonight. Gotta figure out these bonds.

After I had settled into the lounge for a little while, someone else came in.

“Mind if I join you?” he asked. I recognized him as one of the guys from Thomas’ get-together, so I was surprised to see him in the dorm instead of at the frat house.

“No, not at all. You were at Thomas’ movie night, right?” I asked.

“Yeah, Gunther, nice to meet you,” he said.

“Marco.”

“Oh shit, Marco, you’re in o-chem too?”

I just groaned in reply.

“You must be in the Tuesday/Thursday section. I’m in Monday/Wednesday.”

“I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a terrible thing that it’s my last midterm. On the one hand, I have all week to study for it. On the other hand, I have all week to freak out about it.”

“And either way, the test is going to kick your ass,” Gunther finished.

“Exactly. I’m praying for a generous curve.”

“Is she curving it across both sections?”

“Not sure,” I replied. “So what are you doing to study? Flashcards, practice sets, mnemonic devices?”

“Well, I started by reliving every bad decision in my life that brought me here,” he laughed dryly, “and then I started integrating my class notes with my _notes_ notes, like the ones I took from the readings.”

“Want to study together?”

 “Sure. At least that way we’re not suffering alone.”

Gunther and I spent close to an hour quizzing each other on terminology, until we were both struggling to stay awake.

“Well, Marco, we’ve hit that point. Do we go to bed, or do we amp ourselves up on caffeine and make this an all-nighter?” Gunther asked.

“Oh, I wasn’t planning on an all-nighter,” I said quickly. I had never pulled one before and I wasn’t going to start now. I didn’t think, anyway.

“No one really _plans_ to pull an all-nighter. They usually either happen by accident or by necessity due to poor planning. The plan is never ‘gee, let’s pull an all-nighter.”

“Are you going to stay up?” I asked.

“Hell no. That breaks the two day rule,” Gunther said.

“Which is?” I prompted.

“Okay, so the trick with all-nighters is that you gotta do them when two days from then is safe for you to sleep in. The day after you’re pretty wired, but when you crash that evening? You crash _hard_. My chem midterm’s Wednesday. So since it’s technically Tuesday morning right now, that means I’ll be wired today and dead on Wednesday. Not what I want to achieve.”

“So are you going to pull one tomorrow?” I asked.

“Maybe. Depends on how strongly I feel like dying,” he said easily.

“Yikes,” I said, for lack of a better response. “Guess we should pack up, then.”

“I recommend it.”

 

X

 

Wednesday night rolled around, and I had successfully completed four of my five midterms. Art history went decently, French and Comp essays were turned in respectably, and calculus was challenging but I felt prepared.

That, of course, left me to completely and totally panic about o-chem exclusively Wednesday night.

I was in the lounge again, since it was so late, staring at my notes like they might start speaking to me if I just stared long enough.

I sighed and pulled out my phone.

He picked up after four rings.

“Marco?” he asked sleepily.

_Shit_. “Did I wake you up?” I asked guiltily.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. I don’t work til 1 tomorrow. What’s up?”

“I’m so fucked for this chem midterm. This is only the midterm, Jean! I’m only halfway through the class and already there’s more knowledge in it than I can remember, and—

“Marco.” Jean’s voice cut through my rambles like a hot knife through butter.

“Yeah?”

“Take a deep breath for me. In through your nose”—I inhaled slowly, counting to four as my lungs filled—“out through your mouth.” Again, I complied and let the air rush out of my lungs a bit too quickly.

We did this a couple more times, and I was starting to feel at least a little bit more relaxed.

“Good,” Jean assured me. “Now, it sounds like you’re panicking about your chem exam. But I know for a _fact_ that you have been busting your ass for this class. You’ve made flashcards upon flashcards, you’ve made me quiz you with them. You’ve probably rewritten your class notes at least twice, and I bet they’re disgustingly color-coded and you have post-it notes everywhere.”

“… Yeah,” I conceded.

“So are you worried that you’re not prepared?” Jean asked. “Because I’m here to tell you that you are doing everything right. You are doing a fucking amazing job of being prepared for this exam. Will you know everything? Maybe not. But will you know enough to do well, and to power through the rest of the semester? Abso-fucking-lutely.

“The worst thing you can do right now is to get yourself all worked up and panicked, because then you’re not going to be able to get at all that knowledge that you’ve got stored in that beautiful brain of yours. Instead of cramming more tonight, how about you practice some relaxation? Something that you can do during the exam tomorrow as you need it, to access all that knowledge that’s in your brain.”

I was so, so lucky to have Jean there for me.

“You are so good at this,” I told him. “Thank you so much, oh my gosh. You’re literally a life-saver. I can’t… I’m so… Thank you, chéri. Je t’aime.” _I love you._

“Je t’aime aussi,” he told me back. _I love you too_.

 

X

When I walked out of the midterm Thursday afternoon, I felt like I was kind of in a daze. Had I done well? Had I passed? I honestly had no idea. At all.

Ricky caught up with me outside the lecture hall looking much more focused than I felt. Maybe it was because this was his second time through.

“Marco, congrats man, you made it halfway,” Ricky said, slapping me on the back.

“I’m not so sure about ‘making it’, but…”

“You had like twice as many notes and shit as everyone else, I’m sure that you at least passed. It’s getting curved, remember? Anyway, this weekend, my buddy in the other section of orgo is throwing a party to relax and celebrate a bit. It’s just gonna be orgo kids, but you can bring a plus one if you want.”

I was about to give him my standard answer of “I don’t do parties, but thanks,” when it occurred to me that hell yeah I wanted to party and relax and celebrate surviving this hell so far.

“That sounds great,” I told him honestly. “When and where?”

“It’s actually at Thomas’s frat house, because one of the guys in there is hosting it. Marlowe, if you remember him from that movie night.”

“How could I forget the biggest bro to ever bro?” I laughed.

“Exactly. So, tomorrow night, starts around ten but the cool kids don’t show up til at least ten thirty,” he teased.

This party wasn’t going to be starting until it was nearly the time I usually fell asleep. Somehow, that made it sound even more appealing. The next day would be Saturday, so I could sleep in no problem. Jean didn’t work weekends, either, so that would be fine, too.

“Sounds awesome. I’ll be there.”

 

X

 

Through careful word choice and a strategic blowjob, I arrived at the party with Jean in tow at ten forty-five. It was clearly in full swing already, but I figured showing up a little later was fine: Ricky had said it wouldn’t be very busy before ten thirty, and Jean couldn’t complain about being there _too_ long if we showed up almost an hour after it started.

Music thumped throughout the frat house as we made our way through the crowd until we finally made it to the kitchen.

Thomas was there, filling a red plastic cup with beer from a keg on the kitchen table. He was wearing a neon green tank top that said “sun’s out guns out,” white board shorts, and blue shutter shades. If that wasn’t enough, he also wore Nike socks with Adidas sandals. In a word, his look screamed “bro.” I knew this would only make Jean dislike Thomas even more, so I steered Jean towards a punch bowl instead.

“Hey! Marco!” Thomas yelled.

Whelp, so much for that.

“Hey, Thomas!” I returned, my smile bright and genuine to make up for the scowl I knew would be on Jean’s face.

“How long you been here?” Thomas asked, taking a huge swig from his cup.

“Bout five minutes,” I laughed.

“Got your priorities right, then, headed straight for the booze! Love it!” Thomas boomed.

“Well, lord knows I need to be drunk if I’m spending time at a frat party,” Jean says with a sarcastic grin on his face.

Thomas must be drunk already, because he doesn’t register the attitude at all.

“Right on, bro! Hey, Marco, you should say hey to Ricky and Gunther and… uh… Marlowe! Duh! They’re over on the back patio. Marlowe said he had some grass.”

I scrunched up my brow in confusion. Maybe the frat house had a nice lawn in the back?

“Sure,” I said with a shrug. “Wanna go check it out?” I asked, turning to Jean.

Jean gaped at me. “Check out the grass? Babe, do you even know what that means?”

My subsequent silence answered that well enough.

“Grass means marijuana, Marco.”

“Oooh,” I exclaimed. “I… I did not know that. Well maybe we’ll wait for them to come back inside to say hi.”

“Yeah, good idea.” He drains his cup of punch. “I need some more of that shit if we’re gonna be here a while. You’re sure you want to stay?”

“Of course! Just because there’s a little pot doesn’t mean we can’t steer clear and still have a nice time.”

“This is already way bigger than you thought it would be, and now there’s drugs. I dunno, Marco, this seems like not a great idea.”

I turned to him with the biggest pout I could manage. “Please? I wanna dance a little. ‘Sno fun without you.”

“You think you’re gonna get me to dance?” Jean smirked.

“Keep drinking that punch and I bet I can get you to do a whole lot more than just dance with me,” I grinned, leaning in to kiss him quickly.

“You’re on, Bodt, but the challenge is this: you gotta drink too. I’m willing to bet I can hold my booze better than you can, my little chouchou.” Chouchou. _Goody two shoes._

“Yeah, okay, you’re on,” I grinned again, and we filled up our cups with punch.

It smelled somewhat noxious: a mixture of fruity stickiness and the sharp sting of alcohol. I hoped it didn’t taste too awful. In movies people always made a face when they drank alcohol, but that was doing shots, and this was mixed. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad.

I took a tentative sip. It tasted _exactly_ how it smelled, but I actually liked the bite of the alcohol. It cut through the syrupy sweetness of the punch. 

“That’s pretty good!” I told Jean, and I immediately went to drink more.

“Whoa, easy there, tiger. Take it slow,” he laughed, putting his hand over mine on the cup to pull it away from my mouth.

“Nurse it,” he instructed me. “It’ll last longer, and you’ll get buzzed without getting sloppy. That’s the best way to drink. Tipsy, never hungover.”

I nodded, deferring to Jean’s experience with alcohol.

We took our cups out of the kitchen and back to the rest of the party. As it turned out, Jean recognized a couple of people from his time at university, and when he stopped to chat with one of them, I slipped away back to the kitchen to refill my drink.

Three cups later, and I finally understood what people meant when they said “tipsy.” The party had taken on a bit of a dream-like quality. It didn’t feel completely real anymore, like a haze had descended on the room.

My fingers and toes felt a little tingly, and in general I just felt very light. I floated around the room, looking for people I knew. Jean followed me around, and I kept drinking the punch.

 

After cup number six (maybe?), I figured I was leaving tipsy and entering drunk territory.

I started telling everyone I saw that I was drunk, and wasn’t this party fun? Jean dragged me away from most of them, especially if they didn’t know my name.  

“We don’t need to make new friends right now,” Jean said.

“But why not?” I asked. The words seemed to spill out of my mouth rather than my having pronounced them. It was effortless, like I was on autopilot. I felt great.

I finished off cup number seven, and started dragging Jean towards the kitchen.

“Fuck, Marco, I told you to go slow,” he complained. "Let’s get you some water, this round.”

I pouted. “But the punch tastes really good!”

“Yeah, well you won’t feel quite so shitty tomorrow if you have the water,” he argued.

Drinking water probably meant I could have more punch, so I agreed, downing it quickly.

“Wai—Ok. Cool. How about we drink the next one a little slower? God, you’re gonna start getting sloshy and I do _not_ want to clean up your puke tonight, babe.”

“'M not gonna puke,” I assured him even as I swayed. “'M totally fine.”

“Sure, babe. But this is your first time drinking, right? Let’s take it easy.”

“Aren’t you supposed to test your limits your first time, so you know how much you can handle in the future?”

“It doesn’t have to be the very first time, and I’d even argue that it shouldn’t be. Besides, a big party like this isn’t a good place to test yourself. That’s better for a quiet night in. We can do that some time, if you really want? But not tonight, please.”

“Yer no fun,” I told Jean.

I could tell he was getting frustrated with me, but I didn’t really care. I had just made it through a hellacious week studying for that o-chem midterm, and this party was meant specifically for celebrating that feat.

Why should I have to limit my fun because Jean was being crotchety?

“Marco,” Jean said, annoyance dropped and replaced with such seriousness that I felt myself sober up a little. “Listen to me. I love you. And I’m happy that you’re having a good time, but I’m telling you you don’t need any more booze to continue enjoying the party. You’ve got plenty. It’ll last a while.”

I felt myself slouch a little as I processed what Jean told me. My thoughts felt heavy and sticky, like making my neurons fire was suddenly a lot harder to do.

Distantly, I thought about the chemicals in alcohol before shaking my head vigorously. That made the room swirl a little too much for comfort, but at least I wasn’t thinking about orgo anymore.

“C’mon, let’s dance,” Jean said. 

I gasped happily. “Really?” I asked, a big dopey grin growing across my face. “You said you didn’t want to! That I would have to convince you!” A thought occurred to me. “Oh, I must be really convincing, then!”

“Sure, chéri. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

“Hmm? I didn’t hear you,” I said.

“I said you sure were, chéri. Now let’s go find a spot on the floor to dance.”

I was floating again, a combined effort of the alcohol pulsing languidly through my veins and my happiness at Jean agreeing to dance with me.

He moved so nicely during sex, I was willing to bet he would be an amazing dancer.

He pulled my arms up and around his neck, settling his own on my waist, and we began to rock side to side to the beat of the music.

It was some club mix of a pop song I had probably heard on the radio at some point, but couldn’t tell you anything in that moment except for the electricity I felt between Jean’s skin and my own.

We locked eyes, and though my vision was swimming, I focused on Jean like he was the only thing I could see. It didn’t matter if the crowd of other partygoers was hazy; all I needed to see was Jean, his gaze burning a hole right through me.

He started moving his hands on my waist in small circles, rubbing down to my hips and back up again.

I shivered a bit, and carefully I tried to return the gesture by rubbing my thumbs along Jean’s jaw. He had a tiny bit of stubble there, but it was fine and not too prickly. The feeling fascinated me, and I moved my hand to cup his jaw on either side of his face, feeling that strange sensation on more of my hands.

I tried the back of my hand too, and Jean chuckled and moved my hands back to the back of his neck.

I realized that maybe petting his face was maybe too intimate for the dance floor. Or something. Yeah.

I pressed closer to him, still staring into his eyes, though now that I was closer I had to blink a lot more to focus. Inhaling deeply, I took in his scent, that wonderful smell of _boy_ and _Jean_ , and I leaned forward to smell it better, but I started to lose my balance.

Jean caught my weight awkwardly and steadied me back on my feet.

“You okay, babe?” he asked quietly. Somehow the music had faded in my ears to a distant roar, but I could hear him incredibly clearly, despite how low his voice had been.

“Purrft,” I slurred. “You’re perfect.”

It really didn’t answer his question, but I didn’t really care. I was overcome with a swelling, burning affection for my boyfriend in my chest, and he needed to know how much he meant to me in that moment.

“Kiss me?” I asked.

He looked around us, like he wasn’t sure if here and now was a good place to kiss me.

Why didn’t he understand that now was the _perfect_ time to kiss me?

“Kiss me, please,” I said, repeating my request a little more desperately.

He smiled lightly, and then _finally_ he kissed me, those perfect, firm lips meeting my own. It was like our first kiss all over again—well, not our _first_ first kiss, the first one where we were both on the same page, and we felt that little shiver crawl down our spines.

This feels like a new kiss, one we’ve somehow shared a thousand times but never before, either. I realized at this point I’m pretty drunk, but this kiss is _perfect_.

He didn’t kiss me long, but those lips on mine felt like they could stop the world from ending. They felt like the ocean crashing against the shore; they felt like a volcano erupting; and _god_ but it couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds.

When he pulled away from me, I recognized that I made a sort of whimpering noise at the loss. I tugged on the back of his neck, pulling him toward me again.

“ _Please_ ,” I pleaded again.

He shook his head a little, but he smiled and leaned in again too.

The song that’s playing filters through my ears just in time to hear the singer’s voice echo my own thoughts.

_Fuck yeah give it to me, this is heaven, what I truly want…_

The song filtered back out of my thoughts when Jean swiped his tongue along my mouth, and I realized he was going to let me kiss him longer this time. I wasted no time in pressing closer, opening my mouth against his and kissing him deep and wet.

My lips felt like they were buzzing and loose, and it felt amazing to kiss Jean like this. It was like I _needed_ to kiss him; my mouth was begging for it, somehow. I tasted the punch on Jean’s tongue, though it was stronger on my own, I was sure.

The first kiss had been perfect, but this one was somehow even _more_ perfect. The world was tilting around us and I could feel my pulse in my eyelids where they were closed tight, but all I could smell and feel and _breathe_ was Jean.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, trying to breathe without having to break the kiss.

Jean seemed willing enough to go along with it, even though “it” was making out on the dance floor at a frat party, and I was so _happy_.

Maybe it was the magic of alcohol, maybe it was the perfection of Jean himself, but this evening was everything I needed it to be.

Jean somehow drew my focus into him even further as his hands dipped below my hips to grab at my ass.

I groaned into his mouth, and we ground our hips together like it was keeping us alive.

He broke the kiss, finally, and I made some sort of unhappy noise at the loss.

He spun me around, though, pressing into my back now, and I could feel him getting hard through his jeans.

“Fuck, Jean,” I whined, grinding my ass into him as hard as I could.

He kissed down my neck, across my shoulder, and then back up to my ear.

“Let’s go home,” he whispered.

I fucking melted.

“Yes,” I breathed, and he pushed me gently toward the edge of the dance floor.

We didn’t even bother to say any goodbyes; I would have insisted if I wasn’t drunk, I’m sure, but I was so consumed by everything about _Jean_ in that moment that I didn’t care if my friends knew I was leaving. I hoped they were having a good enough time that they wouldn’t miss me anyway.

Jean kissed me every few steps, and my head was spinning with the cool night air when we stepped outside.

Somehow, we made it to the bus, and we spilled out onto the sidewalk near Jean’s building.

We took the elevator upstairs, because I didn’t think I could make it up the stairs right now.

We kissed in the elevator, giddy and happy and _in love_ , I thought with a rush of affection.

My eyes felt heavy, and I was so _happy_ and comfortable.

Jean opened his door, told me to get on the bed, that he would be right there.

I lie down on the bed, big goofy smile on my face…

And passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter 3: please keep hands and feet inside the car at all times
> 
> it'll be slow again for the next update, but school's out in about 3 weeks so i'll hopefully get more writing done over the summer.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr as ricekrispyjoints , if you're into that kind of thing

**Author's Note:**

> I am probably going to be INCREDIBLY slow at updating this. I can't even estimate when I'll write the next chapter. The whole story is outlined, but work is hella busy and I have a lot going on. 
> 
> come find me on tumblr as ricekrispyjoints, if you're into that kind of thing.


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